


cause you take my breath away

by glitterjemstone



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Combeferre & Enjolras Platonic Life Partners, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Miscommunication, not really angst but, thats more like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 13:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15143738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterjemstone/pseuds/glitterjemstone
Summary: Grantaire thinks Enjolras and Combeferre are dating. Hint: Grantaire is wrong. Grantaire pines some, Enjolras pines some. Includes several e/r fic tropes if that's your thing.





	cause you take my breath away

**Author's Note:**

> kinda late e/r fic for pride month anyone? title is random lyrics from "trojans" by doug locke!

Grantaire is not expecting to walk into his Statistics class and see the most beautiful person alive. Of course, he wasn’t expecting to walk into a Statistics class at all, until a few weeks ago, when his counselor informed him that the credits from that college class he took in high school didn’t transfer, and he’d need to take a math course for his general requirements if he wanted to graduate on time.

But that aside, his plan is to sleep throughout the entire class, because he already _knows_ this shit, this is the exact class he took in high school, with the goal of _avoiding_ doing math in college (much less, in his third year of it).

That all changes, though, when he sees this angel. From his slightly-diagonal view, all Grantaire can see is that this person has delicate blond curls, ugly university lighting from above giving it a kind of halo-ish gleam, and a sharp jawline fit for a French model. Not the kind of sharp jawline you look at and think “What the fuck is wrong with this guy, people only call him attractive because his jaw looks like the large end of a violin”, but sharp and smooth and slim. Angelic.

The lecture hall is filling up, mostly with freshman it looks like, ready with their Macbook Airs _and_ notebooks, like fucking Christ _pick one_ , but all this person has is a beaten-up notebook and an empty seat next to them, which Granatire quickly swoops in to fill.

The person is startled, but when they turn to look at him, Grantaire can see they have a pin loosely hanging on their cardigan, and when he squints, he can read “ _smash the patriarchy_ ” on it, which was a positive sign even if Grantaire knew fuck all about feminist theory, or any theory in general. It’s why he’s an art major, words mean nothing to his brain. He _tried_ , okay?

“Nice pin,” he says, mostly because the guy is still looking at him like Grantaire has two heads and saying just “Hello, are you an angel?” sounds fucking creepy.

“Thanks,” the guy says. “A friend made it for me as a birthday gift.”

Grantaire’s also willing to bet if he’s willing to wear a pin like that because it was a birthday gift, he’s also not straight. Which is good for Grantaire. But it’s just a guess. He's pretty sure straight guys don’t often think about feminism.

“I’m Grantaire,” he says.

“Enjolras.”

Grantaire rolls the name around in his mind; it’s nice, a mouthful maybe, but it reminds him of cobblestone and clear skies.

“Okay, so, as someone who is looking to get through this class with minimal effort, how do you think this professor takes to sleeping?” Grantaire leans in close, like it’s a secret. He’d read once that you could make people feel closer to you by doing this, and he feels like a genius for remembering it.

Enjolras observes the room. “I think considering there’s a about a hundred people in this room, and we’re pretty far back, you could probably get away with it, but why would you want to? You shouldn’t be aiming to put no effort into your classes your first semester of college.”

Grantaire laughs loudly, drawing attention from the people around them. He takes a second to look guilty before responding. “I’m not a freshman. This is my third year in college, dude. I’m only in this class because I just found out some credits from high school didn’t transfer.”

Confusingly, Enjolras looks pleased.

“I’m only in this class because I failed it my freshman year and needed to make it up eventually,” Enjolras says. “I’m actually also in my third year.”

“Hm, so does that explain why your notebooks looks already full? It’s from your first go-around of this class?”

“Huh?” Enjolras looks down, as if just noticing how old his notebook looks. “Oh, no this isn’t mine. My notebook from two years ago was basically empty because I was too caught up in starting a activism-centered university club and fighting with the administration because they said my club’s values ‘didn’t align with the university’s reputation and appearance’.”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows. “So then where’d this notebook come from?”

“Oh, it’s my partner’s. He’s really amazing at mathematics, and keeps all his old notes, too. He’s letting me use it for the class since I can’t be relied upon to take my own,” Enjolras says, with a smile reminiscent of an inside a joke, knowledge of Enjolras that Grantaire doesn’t entirely have yet. And maybe never will.

Granatire feels something drop in chest. _Fuck, God-fucking-damnit, just once, couldn’t something work out?_ Of course this guy had a boyfriend. A _partner_. God, just the word ‘partner’ made Grantaire think of the most domestic, stable couple in the world.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, a second too late, enough to be noticable. He wonders if his disappointment shows on his face. “That’s nice of him.”

“Isn’t it?” Enjolras grins widely. Thankfully, at that moment, the professor walks in and silences the room. They go through the lecture quietly, Enjolras rapidly following along with the notes from his _partner_ , and Grantaire trying to sleep. Secretly, he gets caught up in the way Enjolras’s fingers move across the page next to him, and he spends the whole lecture lost in the repetitive movement.

**

Grantaire continues to see Enjolras twice weekly in their shared class, but makes no more moves to get closer to him. The second time they have class together, Grantaire gets there early, and Enjolras comes in and sits right next to him despite the number of empty seats around them. From then on, it’s an assumed thing.

A few weeks into the class Enjolras sits and turns to look at him as he’s doodling a particularly detailed rabbit wearing a 18th century-looking dress and has a speech bubble saying “Let them eat carrots!”

“What’s on your mind, Apollo?” The nickname had arised last week when Grantaire had made a joke, and Enjolras rightfully hates it. Grantaire thinks Enjolras is beautiful when he hates something.

Enjolras purses his lips at the name. “I wanted to invite you to the activist group I help run. Technically, we’re no longer allowed to call ourselves a school club, but we still welcome and encourage students to join us.”

“What makes you think I’m the type of person to want to save the world?” Grantaire asks, gesturing to his drawing.

The rabbit goes seemingly ignored.

“I don’t think you are--but I’d really like to convince you to be,” Enjolras says earnestly. Grantaire considers the invitation, as if deep down he doesn’t already know he’ll take the opportunity to see Enjolras outside of class, even if it means buying into the idea that the world can truly be changed and we’re not all just waiting to die.

“When do you guys meet?”

Enjolras lights up and writes down all of the information on a spare flashcard which he hands to Grantaire, who dutifully tucks into his coat pocket.

“I’ll see you there, Apollo.”

He frowns again.

**

Grantaire sighs when he gets to the place he’s supposed to be. He’d looked up the Café Musain on his phone, but the effect is different in person. It looks exactly like the kind of place you’d expect to carry fair trade coffee and use no plastic utensils or straws, but instead offer metal ones, and encourage you to use one of their own mugs rather than a paper cup for your warm drink.

It’s also exactly the kind of place Enjolras would use as a meeting place. Grantaire finds him in the back surrounded by a number of people he doesn’t know. When Enjolras sees Grantaire, he stops speaking. This, of course, causes everyone else to follow his line of sight, and so now the whole room is staring at Grantaire.

“You made it!” Enjolras exclaims.

“I said I would.”

Enjolras looks back at his friends. There’s a person on either side of him, who sit closer than the rest of the group. It comes off as clique-y to him. Maybe Enjolras is dating one of them. “Guys, this is Grantaire, I think I’ve mentioned him?”

A vague, collective look of recognition spread over the group’s face, and for a fraction of a second Grantaire thought about what Enjolras might have said. _Hey guys, there’s this really weird dude in my Statistics class, he stares at me a lot, so I invited him to stare at me some more outside of class_.

He waved his hand lamely.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a brightly-colored arm waving at him, and upon closer look, it is Jehan Prouvaire himself, wearing an obnoxiously yellow and light blue cardigan.

“Fuck,” Grantaire swears. “Is this that thing you’ve wanted me to come along to?” Jehan has been asking him to come along to some club for about a year now, going on and on about how wonderful the people there were, and how he was  _sure_ Grantaire would enjoy it. Grantaire had continuously denied, because he had no interest in joining a club of idealists, exactly Jehan’s type of people. Now that he thinks about it, Jehan is the only person he knows who would give handmade pins as a birthday gift, so, really, it’s his fault for not realizing sooner. It’s a small university.

And yet, here he was.

Jehan nods dramatically, and yanks him down to sit next to them. Jehan also plays idly with his fingers, which Grantaire doesn’t mind, though it does mean he can’t doodle throughout this thing.

He watches passively for the entire meeting, focusing on Enjolras’s lips more than his words, but every once in a while he catches what Enjolras is saying, and scoffs to himself. How did it end up that he’s so deeply infatuated with the most idealistic person he’s yet to meet?

If Grantaire had thought Enjolras was beautiful when he hates something, it’s a whole new level of beautiful he sees when Enjolras loves something. Enjolras loves passion, he loves ‘the people’, he loves the power of the people.

Sometimes Enjolras switches off with one of the the people next to him (the guy introduces himself as Combeferre, “for anyone who doesn’t know”, as if there are other strangers here aside from Grantaire). Combeferre, as Grantaire comes to learn, has a seamless dynamic with Enjolras; they switch off speaking flawlessly, always seem to know what the other wants to say. Sometimes Enjolras struggles with the right words, and Combeferre speaks and Enjolras looks at him so wondrously.  

Combeferre is also incredibly attractive. He has dark skin, and a square jaw, with high cheekbones, and a short hair, like he shaved it two months ago but hasn’t since. His glasses rest on his face in a librarian-way, which, Grantaire guesses, is also part of his attractiveness.

If Grantaire was a betting man, he’d bet that Combeferre was Enjolras’s mysterious partner. There _is_ something stable and domestic about the relationship he sees.

His thoughts are confirmed when the meeting is over and Enjolras wanders over to where Grantaire is sitting with Jehan, followed by the two guys who sat close to him. The one he doesn’t know is Courfeyrac, Jehan provides in his ear.

They sit at the empty seats near him and Jehan, and Courfeyrac starts up a conversation with Jehan.

“How did you find it?” Enjolras asks, and it’s directed at him.

“Find the meeting?” Grantaire says, even though he already knows that’s what Enjolras is referencing. He just needs a second to gather other words; probably a side effect of being near the object of your newly-found affections. “It’s all very….idealistic.”

Enjolras narrows his eyes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, I disagree. I think it’s always important to see past the boundaries of realism and imagine what could be. In history, people didn’t make change by seeing the best of their current situation, people saw bright and amazing futures and fought for those futures. Just because people around you say something isn’t possible, doesn’t mean you don’t believe in it,” Enjolras says. “Idealism is what drives us. If we settled for a possible goal, we wouldn’t be where we are today. Maybe it’s about baby steps, but it’s all in pursuit of some idealistic goal.”

Grantaire smirks. “So, what, ‘shoot for the stars and land on the moon’?”

Enjolras sighs, and slightly rolls his eyes. “Maybe next time, then.”

“You think there’s gonna be a next time?”

“I know there will be,” Enjolras says confidently. Grantaire raises his eyebrows, but knows he’s right. “Anyways, I wanted to introduce you to Combeferre,” at the sound of his name, Combeferre turned from where he was previously invested in Courfeyrac and Jehan’s conversation. “This is who gave me my new-and-old Statistics notes. Combeferre, this is Grantaire, from my class?”

He didn’t know why Enjolras phrased it like a question, but he just assumes he wants his like, life partner, to get along with the people he knows. It’s flimsy, but he doesn’t give it thought.

Combeferre smiles widely and shakes his hand. “It’s really great to meet you, Grantaire.”

“Call me R,” Grantaire says. Combeferre laughs lightly.

“A pun,” he says.

The air is awkward, but he thinks maybe that’s only coming from his end. He figures Enjolras and Combeferre don’t feel awkward talking to him, but Grantaire certainly isn’t overjoyed to be face to face with the mysterious partner he’s spent so much time wondering about. Combeferre’s shoulder presses against Enjolras’s.

“So…” he starts. “How long have you guys been together?”

He barely finishes his question before Courfeyrac bursts out into laughter, nearly doubling over, forehead hitting the table. Enjolras and Combeferre have equal looks of shock and confusion written on their faces.

Jehan, well, Jehan looks sympathetic. Was it really that obvious how pathetically into Enjolras he was when he said that?

“What are you talking about?” Combeferre asks.

Grantaire frowns. “Was that not clear?”

“No, it was,” Enjolras interjects, “But why do you think Combeferre and I are dating?”

He frowns more, with furrowed brows. _He_ doesn’t understand what’s happening now. He’s sure he didn’t mishear Enjolras that first day of class, he’d definitely said ‘partner’, like… like dating partner, right?

“On the first day of class, remember, Apollo? You said _partner_.”

This just makes Courfeyrac laugh even more. 

A look of realization dawns on Enjolras’s face. “Oh, that’s humiliating--,”

“Did you guys--,” Courfeyrac gasps. “ _Ange_ , did you really pull that?”

“In the interest of not being incredibly confused anymore, could someone explain?” Grantaire says. And also in the interest of _Does this mean Enjolras is single?_

“I will, I will,” Courfeyrac volunteers, though the pair in question don’t look excited at that. “Okay, so, it’s important to know that Enjolras and Combeferre have been friends since the fourth grade. And fast forwarding to freshman year of high school, they decided that they were like, friends for life. There was no else to be best friends with in the entire world but each other, got it?” Grantaire nods along. “And they made this private, like, joke about being ‘platonic life partners’, it’s their contact names in their phones and everything--,”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Enjolras says, embarrassed. “I can finish the story. It’s--it really is just a joke, and sometimes our friends make jokes about us being partners or boyfriends since they learned about the contact names, and I guess when I was talking to you it slipped out. I got really used to people saying ‘partner’ and meaning Combeferre, I suppose I forgot other people aren’t in on the joke.”

Enjolras finishes, looking sheepish.

Grantaire can do nothing but stare, because, fuck, that was actually really _endearing_ , _who let Enjolras be that cute with his friends?_ , until the amusement becomes too much and he bursts into laughter

He covers his face with his hands, choking back as much of it as he can because he knows Enjolras is embarrassed.

“Are you done?” Enjolras asks dryly after a moment. Grantaire uncovers his face and breathes deeply.

“Yeah, I’m done,” he says.

“Thank you,” Enjolras says pointedly. He then straightens, as if getting a burst of energy. “Wait, Grantaire, is that why--,” he stops suddenly.

“Is that why…,” Grantaire prompts him, Enjolras’s friends still watching and listening intently.

Enjolras seems to notice this as well, and side-eyes them. “Can we talk somewhere else? Privately?”

“Apollo, we barely know each other, but that sounds like a proposition.” He is also praying his face isn’t turning red, knowing that was an inappropriate thing to say in the moment.

Enjolras rolls his eyes, looking frustrated, but seems to blush as well. “Please? I promise I’m not _propositioning_ you,” he grits through his teeth.

“Lead the way,” Grantaire says, and he does. Grantaire follows him, to the stares of the others, out of the Musain and to an alley next to the building, if it could be called that. It was more like an actual street than an alley, but slightly too small to seem normal. Despite it being past sundown, it’s still warm and humid out. _Fuck summer_ , Grantaire thinks.

When Enjolras comes to a halt, he turns harshly on his heel and loses all his previous hardness. He now looks… incredibly small, in Grantaire’s eyes. He scrunches his eyes shut for a moment, which makes Grantaire's chest flutter with something strange.

“Okay, so, I’m _sort of_ propositioning you,” Enjolras confesses, slowly. He peeks at Grantaire’s reaction.

All Grantaire can do is sputter. “Wha-- Wh--,”

Enjolras’s eyes go wide and he hurries to speak again. “But not like, _sexually_.”

“Enjolras, I don’t think there’s any other way to proposition someone. Like, if you Googled it, the definition includes that it is sexual by nature,” Grantaire says.

“Okay, then I’m not propositioning you. I just, I don’t know how to ask you out, then.”

Grantaire’s eyes widen. “You--, what?”

Enjolras sighs exasperatedly. “Grantaire, will you go out with me?”

“You want to go out with me?” Grantaire says.

“Why did you think I invited you tonight?”

“To--make me listen to your undying love of humanity and how much you believe in, like, love?”

“I wanted you to meet my friends! I’ve been mentioning you to them for weeks. I wanted them to like you before I asked you out!” Enjolras says, throwing his arms out.

“How am I supposed to know that?” Grantaire says, then pauses. “Wait, let’s go back. You want to go out with me?”

“That’s the second time you’ve asked that question. And, yes, I do. Please say yes,” Enjolras replies.

Grantaire hesitates, though he doesn’t quite know why. Well, he does. He’s nervous. Maybe Enjolras and him are better off friends… or whatever they currently are. And he hadn’t really been in a relationship he’d wanted to work, ever. Everyone he’d dated he knew was temporary, and he’s surprised to realize he doesn’t want to go into this knowing it’s gonna go down in flames.

“You can say no,” Enjolras says in a small voice. When Granatire looks in his eyes, he sees his own thoughts reflected back in the look.

“Yes,” he says, and when Enjolras face falls, he adds, “to going out with you-- not yes to saying no.”

Enjolras smiles so wide, he could compete with the sun for radiance.

**

Grantaire thinks Enjolras is beautiful when he hates something, and even more beautiful when he loves something. Neither could have prepared him for when Enjolras is in love.

It’s been six months since Enjolras had asked him out. Their Statistics class was over, which was good because while Grantaire had done marvelously, Enjolras had been far too distracted to do well. But he passed, barely.

It had been five months and three weeks since they’d had their first kiss.

And it had been one month since Enjolras had said “I love you,”.

Enjolras in love was another sight all together. He said the words so freely and so happily that Grantaire could not imagine a better reality. Sometimes he was fiery and passionate and angry, and then sometimes he was quiet. In moments late at night, Enjolras would blink sleepily, look at Grantaire from under his lashes, and whisper, “I love you.”

Grantaire whispers it back.

**Author's Note:**

> if u enjoyed this fic, please consider giving kudos or leaving a comment! leave a comment even if you didn't like it! also maybe tell me about typos or if i mess up on tenses?


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